Snapshots
by colormeferret
Summary: Snapshots of Harry and Draco's love story - told in 100 drabbles.
1. Chapter 1  Chocolate

1. CHOCOLATE

350 Words

Harry hated going into Honeyduke's. He figured that after years of going without, it was hard to force yourself to indulge. Aisles of ice mice and blood pops never did tempt him, but even he couldn't resist the allure of chocolate frogs. He especially liked the feel of the gold embossed lettering on the outside, the twist and curl of the c's and o's under his thumb. Plus there was just something amazing about standing in front of a long aisle full of them.

"Father told me never to buy sweets from here," drawled a voice from down the aisle. Harry didn't even need to bother looking up to know Malfoy was once again showing off. He wondered if his voice always carried so far, or if he had a Potter-detecting device that knew how and when best to annoy Harry.

"Honeyduke's is known for below par chocolate. Father says it's better to import," Malfoy continued, and Pansy ooh-ed and ah-ed at all the right times. Harry peered surreptitiously over his shoulder just in time to see Pansy flouncing away, dropping all the chocolate that had laden her arms into the closest bin. Malfoy watched her go before turning back to look at the stack of chocolate frogs to which he must have been referring.

As Harry looked on, Malfoy's hand trailed over each package slowly, often tracing the lettering in a slow methodical manner. Harry's fingers started to subconsciously follow the same pattern on his own chocolate frogs, pausing to linger on each curl.

Pansy's shrill voice eventually cut through Malfoy's concentration, and he jumped, moving quickly away. One final glance back, and for the first time Malfoy caught eyes with Harry. He paused, eyeing the chocolate frogs in Harry's hands. His gaze unguarded, Harry could read the desire evident on his face, and it sent a sudden shiver through his body. Malfoy looked up, his eyes finding Harry's once more, before he finally disappeared beyond the aisle.

Harry looked down at the four packages in his hands, grabbed two more, and headed to the counter to check out.


	2. Chapter 2  Masks

2. MASKS

292 Words

"Sometimes I just don't understand boys," muttered Hermione as she plopped down next to him on the common room couch.

"I think that might be my cue to leave," Harry responded, closing the book on his lap and attempting to get up. The only problem being that Hermione's hand had latched on to his arm in that time, preventing his quick getaway.

She continued without much of a pause for reaction. "No, really, don't you ever feel like you're different?"

Harry rolled his eyes in response. "Hermione, I'm the Boy Who Lived. It comes with the territory."

"Sometimes, I don't feel like a Gryffindor, you know? Maybe I was put in the wrong house." Hermione turned away, letting his arm go and tucking her feet underneath her.

Harry was tempted to tell her that he chose to be in Gryffindor, that he had doubted just like her the real reason for his placement, or even that there were so many days he just felt like an outcast no matter what. But he didn't think that this was what Hermione really meant.

"Ron's stupid," he said instead. Hermione turned to look at him, and he could see the tears forming in her eyes. Harry crossed his fingers that he could fix this before the true waterworks started and he was stuck in that fun situation. "We're boys Hermione. It has nothing to do with being Gryffindors."

"You're right, Harry," she said with renewed vehemence. "Besides, we've got a lot of work to do. I don't have the time to think about a relationship when we should be worried about Voldemort."

"Right," he said, trying not to picture anything meant by the relationship comment. "Voldemort." And definitely not picturing anyone with sleek blond hair.


	3. Chapter 3 Hair

3. HAIR

590 Words

Draco can't remember the first time he cut his hair. His mother had always come to him twice a month to perform the simple spell before patting his head and walking away. Surprising, really, that she even did it herself. But there had never been a discussion about it.

What he can remember is disapproving eyes at the dinner table, no matter how many spells he came to master during tutoring or the effort he made to befriend the right people. He remembers trying, looking for some sign of praise or appreciation from his father. But the dismissal had been there as long as the haircuts.

So Draco, being young, decides he needs to change. The answer is obvious – be more like Father. Well, Draco can't hold a job or manage the household, so instead he chooses appearance.

Father's hair is long, sleek, and pulled back into a low ponytail. It has always been that way, and has never even grown an inch.

Draco's hair is short, falling in limp, wild, untamed strings around his head. It is a child's haircut.

Mind made up, he sneaks into his parent's bedroom one day. He has never been in there, but he is singularly focused. Tiptoeing, he makes his way into their bathroom. Immaculately polished, every surface gleams brightly, and Draco fears momentarily disturbing the picturesque room. The anxiety fades when he spots the cabinet.

There, in the back, a large bottle of Sleekeazy. The lettering glows in sparkling silver, the bottle itself an oddly shaped purple lump. Draco thinks it looks pretty girly, but he still grabs it.

It makes a soft pop as he opens it, and turning it over, he dumps a considerable amount onto his hand. Putting the bottle down and rubbing his hands together, the green gel glides smoothly across his skin. It immediately reminds him of bogeys, and his childish giggle echoes through the bathroom.

The first touch of his hand to his scalp is awkward. He has never seen his father, or anyone for that matter, put anything like this on. It weighs his hair down, giving it the appearance of being wet. Firming his resolve, he attacks his task with a vengeance.

In the end, he decides he did a pretty good job for his first time. He probably used a little more than necessary, but the effect was instantaneous – the spitting image of his father. Sans the ponytail, of course.

His mother gushes over him upon first glance – my little man, she exclaims. She offers to teach him the spell to cut his hair later, and he readily agrees. New responsibilities already! But it is his father's approval he seeks.

The man shows little reaction at first sight. He gives Draco a once over, and proceeds to sit down to dinner. Draco finds it hard to eat as his heart continues to sink further with each passing minute. It is only during desert, when Draco has barely touched a bite, that his father speaks up.

You're looking very distinguished. The words have imprinted themselves permanently on Draco's mind. One of the few compliments he has ever received from his father. Draco spends the rest of the evening preening himself and praising his new appearance.

It becomes his staple, his reminder of good times when things get down. When people talk behind his back, when he finally realizes the truth behind the Death Eaters, when he heads to school for the first time.

And then he met the boy with the wild, untamed hair.


	4. Chapter 4 Karma

4. KARMA

517 Words

Draco was not in the habit of eavesdropping on first years' conversations - having reluctantly been one himself, he was happy to put that whole stage behind him - but when the girl sitting next to him at lunch mentioned Harry Potter, he knew it was his duty to listen in.

"So he's Harry Potter," she was saying to her friend across the table, "I don't see the big deal."

Draco felt his hands twitch of their own accord.

"You have to admit he's cute," the friend said through a mouthful of some unidentifiable food. Draco inwardly gagged at the sight.

"Cute, sure. But look at who he hangs out with. The Weasel and a mudblood. And I would say that was almost cunning of him to hang out with the smartest girl in the school, but he doesn't get any of the benefits. I mean, just look at his grades."

It was odd to hear the same words he had spewed countless times coming from another's mouth. Draco cringed at the dainty voice saying his coveted nickname for Weasley.

"So he hangs out with her - for what? For fun? And Weasley! A blemish and an eyesore if I ever saw one."

"Oh be fair," her friend interrupted. "I'm not talking about his friends."

The girl laughed derisively. "He could be the hottest boy in school and I would still turn my nose up at him just because of those clothes. You know the Potters were rich, yet he comes in here looking like he slept in a barn with the whole Weasley family."

Draco felt his fingers clench around his spoon. Who did she think she was? Only he was allowed to talk about Potter that way!

"So think seriously. He has no respect for his betters, and he attracts danger like a magnet - think of Cedric, Black, or any number of his friends who have ended up in the Hospital Wing because of him."

Draco could feel his blood boiling beneath his skin as he struggled to control his emotions, all the while trying to remind himself that one day she would get her comeuppance. Karma would find her, whether it was becoming a Hogwarts champion herself and getting eaten by a dragon, or perhaps that Basilisk making one last final stand and going for her family, Draco had no preference. Just as long as she was dead or sobbing uncontrollably over the body of her loved ones while everyone pointed and laughed -

Draco blinked, the vision fading from his mind's eye. He was feeling territorial, that's all. She shouldn't be insulting Potter - that was his job.

Right.

"And to top it all off, he's Dumbledore's little-"

His hand whipped out, smacking the girl in the chest and knocking her off the bench. Limbs sprawling, she yelped as she collided with the hard tile of the floor. Activity around them halted as she sat up, rubbing her head and muttering. Finally she turned her gaze on Draco.

"Oops," he said, grinning. "You should be more careful."

Sometimes karma needed some help.


	5. Chapter 5 Short Skirt

5. SHORT SKIRT

474 Words

"Come on, hurry up," Ron said, dragging Harry by the hand through the throng of people. "We can't miss it. Consider it an early Christmas present." Ron turned back for a second, grinning idiotically, before resuming his path through the crowd.

"I don't see what's so important," Harry mumbled as he bumped into the fourth person. He could barely get off an apology because of Ron's incessant pace.

For that matter, Harry wondered what could possibly be in the castle that Ron would consider an early Christmas present. It was hardly December, so Harry himself had yet to even consider what to get for his best friend. Probably something to do with Quidditch - Ron seemed to like that.

Oh, he hoped that wasn't where Ron was taking him now. Harry could use a few extra mornings of sleep considering so many of them were filled with Quidditch practice. And if Ron had dragged him out of bed at the crack of dawn just to spy on another team, well, Harry wasn't going to be very happy about it.

They rounded the last corner, and with dread Harry realized they were standing just outside the Great Hall.

"Here we go," Ron said, gesturing for Harry to go in.

Harry quirked an eyebrow, thoroughly unimpressed. "You brought me to breakfast?"

He was suddenly wishing for Quidditch.

"Breakfast?" Ron asked confusedly before shaking his head. "No, something much better."

Better than breakfast? For Ron?

With a sigh, he elbowed his way through the mob of people just inside the door. It was odd to see the Great Hall so jam-packed during breakfast, and especially at this hour. Harry stopped when he reached the Gryffindor table.

His eyes scanned the room. "Well? What am I -" He trailed off, his eyes focusing on a shockingly blonde head in the center of the crowd.

Harry blinked. Then blinked again, concerned it was a hallucination. But no, no matter how he looked at it, Draco Malfoy was still standing there.

Well, correction, Draco Malfoy was standing there dressed in a girl's uniform.

Even from this distance, nearly two tables over, and the number of people in the in between, Harry could make out every detail - the white cotton button-down that showed just a glimpse of his pale collar, the over-the-knee gray stockings accentuating his slender calves, the black mary janes that had Harry wondering just who exactly had his size in a girl's shoe …

And finally, the skirt. Harry's eyes focused on the expanse of shapely pale thighs, barely concealed beneath the obscenely short length. And as Malfoy turned to talk, the skirt twirled up a bit, and Harry's breath caught.

"Malfoy lost a bet," Ron said, though his voice was distant. "I knew you would appreciate this."

Harry gulped, feeling his heart beating uncomfortably. Appreciate, right.


End file.
